


Descendo

by ThatGirlTheyKnow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Cannibalism, Harry Potter AU, Head Girl!Alana, Headmaster!Crawford, Hogwarts AU, I've mix and matched themes from the show, M/M, Manipulation, Not Beta Read, Ravenclaw!Will, Work In Progress, a twist, don't think this follows season one because it certainly does not, slightly rewritten as of 25/01/14
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2017-12-18 00:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatGirlTheyKnow/pseuds/ThatGirlTheyKnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogwarts AU.</p>
<p>Descendo: a spell that makes things sink, or go down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is all over the place, weird, a lot of things are missing, I'm terrible, I just couldn't resist.  
> I own nothing. Harry Potter and Hannibal belong to other amazing people and I'm just playing with them (badly).  
> Forgive me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of rewriting and continuing this fic. Barely any alterations have been made but you might want to skim through anyway.

Will is standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall, staring at blood seeping through the cracks on the floor. The hall is almost empty, and he has only a few minutes before he has to be in the common room. He’s still dressed in his uniform, but his black robe with blue and bronze is on his bed. He only vaguely remembers putting it there after class. He has spent most of the evening outside. Away from people. It’s easier. He is very aware of how his appearance and his skittishness make him stand out. And the way he zones out, becomes unaware of his surroundings, talks to himself. He makes people uneasy. He’s more or less fine with that; being around people made _him_ uncomfortable, too.

He is interrupted in his thoughts by a large hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Headmaster Crawford eyeing him. He’s interacted with Crawford in the past. He wonders why the man wants him now. He always seems to ask a lot of him: he encourages Will to take Divination, to go into law enforcement with his “gift”. Crawford seems to be under the impression that it’s simply strong divination. It’s not. It’s so much more than that. It’s a magic nobody really understands.

Despite Crawford, though, Will plans to become an Auror. He knows he can help people. But he refuses to take Divination. He doesn’t want to be any more of a freak than he is. He remembers the one year he took it, and the looks people gave him when he gave clear, vivid (and accurate) pictures of the future. How he predicted that girl’s death. How he then, without any crystal ball or any tea leaves, told Crawford why it was done while students were still crowding around the bloody display in the Great Hall.

“Mister Graham, will you please follow me.” It’s an order barely disguised as a request.

Will glances at the floor, and the blood is gone.

He trails behind the headmaster until they reach his office. In one of the seats in front of the desk, there is an unfamiliar man. He doesn’t bother looking at the man, but gives him a small nod. He hates meeting new people, but he decides it’s not worth the trouble of protesting when Crawford gestures towards the chair. He keeps his eyes busy, studies the room, and tries to ignore the feeling of the stranger’s eyes boring into him. There is a distinctly clinical feeling about the observation he is under. He hates it.

“Mister Graham, this is Hannibal Lecter,” Crawford says. “He is a Healer- he prefers doctor, though, because he treats muggles too- who specialises in the mind. I have informed him of your... unique way of thinking, your brand of divination. I want you to speak to him. I know it can’t be easy, thinking like you do. ”

Will grimaces. Clenches his fists. “Does it matter if it’s easy?” he asks in barely more than a hiss. He does not want to talk to this stranger about himself. He doesn’t want to be psychoanalysed, especially not by magical means. 

“You are not fond of eye contact, are you?” Lecter says after an awkward moment of silence. His accent is strong, and Will can’t place it, but it’s oddly soothing. He doesn’t speak in the same way other people in his profession do to Will; he doesn’t approach Will as though he is a wounded animal. It’s refreshing.

So he replies, and when he glances at Crawford, he knows that the headmaster counts it as a win.

-

He finds a small comfort in knowing that his sessions with Lecter are not official, off the record, and not obligatory (though Headmaster Crawford does not take no for an answer).

Dr Lecter uses muggle techniques in his work. It is unusual, but a relief. As a Muggleborn, Will is more familiar with Lecter’s methods, and more comfortable. He doesn’t want somebody poking around in his head with magic. He shudders to know what they would find.

He finds himself quickly trusting the doctor. After their first meeting, he does not psychoanalyse him. In his office, which Will Floos to every week, he can open up to the man as much as he wants. As little as he wants. He chooses what he tells the man about the way he thinks, about the girl whose murderer he helped catch when he was just thirteen, about his dreams and nightmares. He keeps many of the details to himself, but he gives Lecter just enough for the man to have a decent idea of who he is. Sometimes in their “sessions”, however, he just walks around the elegantly furnished office, observing things, looking at the library. Lecter doesn’t seem to mind. He simply watches Will with his steady gaze in a way that’s almost curious. Like he’s curious about Will outside the crazy boy who can read people all too well. Doctor Lecter allows Will an escape, a place to vent, and gives him tools to deal with some of the more troublesome things his mind does to him. Someone to have real, human interactions with that aren’t based around school or his mind. Will is grateful.

-

Dr Lecter cooks for him one night and over a gourmet, home-cooked meal and high-class butterbeer, Will finds himself talking about the murder of the girl in his third year with little prompting.

“I told Headmaster Crawford it was just a dream, how I knew she was going to die. And that I could tell the way the murderer thought just by looking at things nobody else thought were relevant...” Will tells Lecter, who is gazing at him calmly, but with a disguised intensity Will is not sure is there or not from his few seconds of eye contact. “But it’s not true. Not completely.”

“How did you know, Will?” Lecter asks evenly.

Will feels slightly sick. He stares down at his meal and shrugs. “I... _became_... the killer,” he manages shakily. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, grimacing. “Doctor Lecter, I re-enacted the entire murder in my head, from the point of view of the _killer.”_

“I see.”

With Will’s head down, eyes trained on his lap, he doesn’t see the small, dangerous smile of the face of his unofficial psychiatrist.

-

“Sometimes I sleepwalk,” Will says as he stares at a text called _Sleeping Disorders and Their Effect on Magical Ability_ on one of Doctor Lecter’s bookshelves. “I didn’t even realise it until a week ago. I should have known, though.”

“Why is that, Will?”

“I’ve been waking up in places I shouldn’t be, like the commonroom. I assumed I just fell asleep there.” He pauses, and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I think I hallucinate while I sleepwalk, too. It’s like I’m half-aware of it, almost.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been seeing a stag. It follows me. Watches me. The first time I saw it, I think I was sleep-walking, just about to wake up.”

“Oh?” There’s something in Lecter’s voice that Will can’t place.

“Now I see it everywhere. In the halls, in my dorm. But mainly when I’m outside at night. In the forest. It’s clearer then.”

-

A teacher is found dead on the outskirts of the Forest, pinned to a tree without magic. Naked, with the look of someone who has been crucified. His heart is carved out, leaving a dark, gaping hole in his chest. Will, among the Care of Magical Creatures class who finds the professor, stares. The pendulum swings three times. And he becomes the killer.

_“I take the man out of his office. He has it open. He just finished giving a detention. I can still hear his students chattering down the hall, on their way back to their common rooms. I am under an invisibility spell. This man, this pig, does not make a sound. I have wandlessly gagged, bound and silenced the man. He is invisible to all but myself. I take him deep into the Forbidden Forest where I undress him, then carve his heart out of his chest while he is still alive, screaming silently under my powerful spell. I take his heart and admire it. I deserve it much more than he does. He is dirt beneath my feet. An animal. In this form, dead, he is of much more use to the world.”_

“Mr Graham?”

_“I nail him to the tree where I know students will see him. Where I know many will see him. I have turned him into a piece of art. It is unfortunate that few will admire my medium.”_

“Will, snap out of it. The aurors need everybody to move.”

_“This is my design.”_

“Will!”

His eyes snap open. Crawford and his classmate Beverly Katz are standing over him. Aurors are staring at him out of the corners of their eyes as they try to set up boundaries around him. He is sweating, and a headache pounds in his skull.

Crawford is looking at him curiously. “Will... what do you see?”

-

Barely fifteen minutes later Will is sitting in the Headmaster’s office explaining the murder to Jack Crawford. Like he’s an Auror, and not a seventeen year old unstable student who shouldn’t have seen the crime scene anyway.

“The murder... it was the Ripper, right? With the artful display, the taken organs. I’ve read about him.”

Jack nods. “I believe so, yes. Why do you say artful?”

“The Ripper... he sees what he does as art.” Will takes a deep, shaky breath, and downs a vial of potion he has for headaches. “The victims are... are _pigs_ to him, and he’s giving them a use. They’re his canvas. He thinks... he thinks they deserve it.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. Will shrugs. “From what I could see, anyway.”

“Okay, Mr Graham. You can leave now; I have an appointment with the board about this. I’ve owled Dr Lecter and he says you can Floo over if you need to. You can use my fireplace.”

-

Will is sitting on a couch in Hannibal Lecter’s office, but he is not listening to what the doctor is saying. Instead, his attention is focused the corpse of the dead professor he saw not an hour ago, standing against the wall at the back of the room. The dead man, a History of Magic teacher Will never bothered learning the name of (even after his death) is staring at Will knowingly, a smile on his face. The cavity in his chest is oozing dark, almost black blood.

“Will?” The boy startles up to look at Lecter with wide eyes. Lecter has gotten up and placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. His face is a foot away from the empath’s; his eyes and the set of his mouth indicate concern. “Will, are you with me?”

Will can’t meet Lecter’s eyes. Instead, his gaze jumps around the doctor’s face. The corpse is closer, leaning over Lecter as Lecter leans over Will. The empath can almost smell rotting flesh and the metallic tang of blood. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, the corpse is the stag brushing his nose against Lecter’s neck.

“Will, listen to me.” The doctor’s hand grasp either side of Will’s face as the boy starts shaking violently. “It is twelve minutes past ten am. Your name is Will Graham. You are in London, England. You are in Hannibal Lecter’s office. You are safe. Repeat that, please, Will.”

“I...” For a few moments, Will is focused; focused on his shakes, on the sweat rolling down his back, on Dr Lecter’s dark eyes and his firm hands on his face. “It’s ten twelve,” he whispers. “My name is Will Graham. I am in London, England, in Dr Lecter’s office. I am safe.”

“Say it again.”

“I...” Will’s body convulses, and he yanks his head from Lecter’s grasp as he leans over the side of the couch and vomits. When he finishes, he looks up, and the professor and the stag are gone.

He lets his head fall into his unofficial doctor’s chest and allows the man to take him through breathing exercises that aren’t half as effective as that smooth, accented voice in his ear.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People are getting murdered, Will's life is still terrible, why can't he just be happy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all the feedback! I love you!
> 
> *enthusiastically hugs you*
> 
> (Sorry, I haven't slept in 34 hours.)  
> (I don't know what I'm doing. I don't have a set plot in mind. I'm making it up as I go. Also, I can't proofread this because I'm about to collapse, so... good luck.)
> 
> EDIT: I'm editing this story, rewriting and such. Yeah. I'm continuing it. If you've already read it you might wanna skim through again.

A week later, Will is sitting in the same seat, explaining his nightmares to Dr Lecter. He remembers the sense of relief he felt when, even after his episode, the man treated him like a normal, if not slightly fragile, person.

They do not talk about the second body found in Hogsmeade. How Will saw it through gaps in the crowd gathered, and saw flashes of the killer’s intent behind his eyes.

Instead, Will explains his nightmares. “I see myself killing that professor. And the girl from my third year... In perfect _clarity_. It feels... _so_... real. I’m afraid that the Ripper is going to kill at Hogwarts again, and I’m afraid I’ll see, and go into his head again. And become him again, if only for a little while.”

“What do you see when you go inside his head, Will? What do you feel?”

He sees a monster and an artist. He sees someone completely in control of themselves. He sees the faint silhouette of a completely normal human being, a functioning member of society. He feels...

“Dr Lecter, I feel _familiarity_.” His face is in its usual expression of disbelief (at himself, at the world) and desperation. He runs a hand through his unruly hair. And feels Lecter’s eyes boring into his skull.

-

He opens his eyes, and does not remember how he came to be in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, thick with trees and alive with the sounds of nocturnal life. Some harmless, some less so. He looks down, and his feet are bloody. He is on a path, but on one that was designed to be tread on barefoot. Probably made by centaurs, or the groundskeeper. He turns and sees a trail of foot-shaped stains of blood. Cautiously, he begins to walk back the way he presumes his came, hoping it will take him home. His head is thick with a fog. He wonders if he is entirely awake, and wonders how long he has been walking. He hopes nothing sinister is in this part of the Forest tonight. He glances up through a gap in the trees and sees that the moon is not full. It’s a comfort, but not a big one. There are many things in the forest other than werewolves that could kill him. He doesn’t feel panicked, though.

Ignoring the stinging pain on his feet, he walks until he sees the castle through the trees. He wants to start running, but a noise behind him distracts him. He glances over his shoulder, and the stag is there, like it always is when he sleepwalks. It seems impossibly real. It looks at him with calm eyes and he doesn’t know if it is about to attack or if it is going to leave him be. It never attacks, but there is a first time for everything.

He thinks that the stag looks entirely too intelligent for a wild animal. Or any animal, for that matter. Then again, there are many things in the world considered animals that are just as and more intelligent than humans.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, and Alana Bloom, the Head Girl and his housemate, is shaking him awake. He is in a seat in the commonroom that he usually avoids. It allows people to see him too much, and allows him to see people too much. He blinks. Alana is leaning over him with her eyes worried and her mouth set in a tight line. She glances down, and he follows her gaze. His feet are bloody, but oddly, the cuts are gone. He wonders if she healed them. He doesn’t bother asking. He doesn’t care. Instead, he gazes around the room, and allows the deep blues and bronzes to ground him.

“Will, did you sleep last night?” Alana is asking. Will thinks about it. He surely did, but he feels as though he hasn’t slept in days.

“No,” he tells Alana, because it’s easier. She nods, and he blinks. When he opens his eyes, he is in his bed in the dormitory and the clock beside him says it’s lunch time. Alana left a note telling him she told the teachers he was sick. He almost appreciates it.

He stares up at the blue curtains above his bed and once again wonders why he was placed in Ravenclaw.  He didn’t particularly like learning. He comes to the same conclusion he always does; the Sorting Hat simply could not find a match for him, and put him in the house that was slightly more likely than the rest. He questions how accurate the Hat really is.

He goes down to lunch after changing quickly into his robes. He doesn’t plan on going to class, but it’s easier than attracting attention to himself. He eats quickly, away from people, though he can sense the eyes of the few people he calls friends on his back as he leaves. He imagines the worried look in Alana’s eyes. He pictures Beverly, worry overpowered by curiosity. Jimmy and Brian, frowning at him. Not understanding him.

When he leaves the Great Hall and steps into the deserted hallways of the school, he starts running.

-

When he goes into the Forest that night, he’s awake and completely aware of his actions. He shivers against the cold wind weaving its way through the tree.

There’s a crack behind him, and he pulls out his wand. “ _Lumos_.”

The stag is breathing down his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“It’s ten forty-nine pm. My name is Will Graham. I am at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am safe.”

He opens his eyes, turns, and the stag is still there.

He thinks he can feel it grinning at him.

“Are you... _real_?” The beast doesn’t move, and for a very long time, Will stares at the dark, intelligent eyes.

_(Familiarity.)_

“It’s ten-fifty pm,” Will whispers, and takes a step closer to the stag. His hand twitches, and he resists the urge to reach out. “My name... is Will Graham. I am in the Forbidden Forest in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am... safe?”

-

The third victim of the Ripper’s group of three is a student. Will doesn’t see it, but sees photos that were circulated, supposedly by Freddie Lounds. It was almost as bad, but at least he only has to imagine the stench of blood and death.

Even if he does have to imagine how the Ripper dismembers and arranges the poor girl. The girl he had had classes with, even if he hadn’t particularly liked her.

 If the death of a professor came as a shock, brought threats of students being pulled out of school and dementors being posted at the gates, this death brings a mass exodus, and soon many of Will’s classes are halved in size. When he sees groups of students and parents leaving the grounds, he wants to shout at them for their stupidity. The Ripper kills in _threes_ , and then does nothing for months, sometimes up to two years.

Besides, the youngest of his victims was seventeen. Never younger, not in all his years active. Will thinks that maybe that’s to do with the Ripper’s own version of a moral code. Every day, Will sees first years being bundled away by paranoid parents, but he knows, without being able to explain how, that they aren’t in danger.

-

“Did you know the latest victim, Will?” Lecter asks two days after the last murder. “She was in your grade.”

“I did know her. A bit. I don’t think I ever talked to her. She’s wasn’t the nicest person.”

“Did you see her body, before it was removed?”

“No, but I saw pictures. I saw... I saw, mostly, what he did. It was blurry, though. But not hard to understand. I wish... I wish I could know him better, though.”

“The Ripper? Why?”

“Because then I would understand him. There are so many questions. What he does with the organs... _why_ he does this. Why he finds the victims so _distasteful_.”

“Tell me what you know about him already, Will.”

“Um...”

Lecter smiles encouragingly. “It will help you organise your thoughts.”

“Well. Um, I know he looks normal. _Acts_ normal, for the most part. He’s a man, middle-aged. He has a background in medicine- you can see that from the way he takes out organs, his knowledge of anatomy. Probably a surgeon, but not anymore, I’d say. Indicates muggle training, because as far as I know, Healers rarely need to do major surgery. He... he sees his victims as pigs. They’re below him, so he turns them into art.”

Will realises he’s staring at Lecter. He man smiles, and for a second, he is the stag.

Will gasps-

\- and blinks, and then he is in the Headmaster’s office.

“... and I hope you’re feeling better.”

Will startles. “Um, what? What are we talking about?”

Crawford raises an eyebrow. “Are you with me, Will?”

Will runs his hand through his messy hair. How did he get here? Wasn’t he just in Dr Lecter’s office? “What were we talking about?”

The headmaster looks annoyed at what he perceives to be lack of attention. “I was _saying_ , Will, that I have been talking to Hannibal Lecter and he deems you to be as stable as you can get, and he doesn’t think you’re going to need changes to your timetable and he says taking any potions would be unnecessary, except for maybe the occasional headache reliever or sleeping draught. Is that good, Will? Do agree with this assessment?”

Will is staring at a quill on Crawford’s desk. “That sounds good, sir. Just out of curiosity, how long have I been in here.”

“Will...” There’s a warning tone in the headmaster’s voice. “Is there something you need to tell me? Has something happened?”

“Um, no. Just wondering... I was going to study tonight.”

He stares at his hands and notices they’re shaking. He clenches them while he’s studied, trying to ignore the gaze. Headmaster Crawford knows something is wrong, but if Will won’t tell him, he won’t pry.

“You’ve been in here for ten minutes, Will. You came here after your last class of the day.”

Will glances at the calendar behind Crawford; he estimates he lost almost a day of time. His appointment with Dr Lecter was yesterday.

“Thanks. Sir, can I please see Dr Lecter? I’d like to talk to him about something.” Will knows he could wait for the appointment he has tomorrow to tell Lecter about his lost time, but at the moment, he could use someone understanding and calming, not because it’s necessary, but because he wants to feel understood and calm. And cared for, and the array of other pleasant emotions that surged through him upon hearing his unofficial psychiatrist’s voice.

Crawford nods slowly. “If you need to. Just Floo over now, I’m sure he’ll be free, he usually takes half-days on Wednesdays.”

Will murmurs his thanks and shuffles over the fireplace, grabbing a hand of the powder and saying in the least shaky voice he could, “Hannibal Lecter’s office.”

He bursts out of the doctor’s fireplace coughing violently through the smoke and dying flames. As he coughs, a firm hand smooths itself over his back, rubbing gently up and down until his lungs calm down.

“Thank you, Dr Lecter,” he mutters weakly, face flaring up red at the touch. He stands up straight and Lecter’s hand lingers on his back for a few moments. He can’t meet the older man’s eyes even though he gets the feeling he is being urged to.

“It is quite alright, Will,” Lecter says. Will realises just how close he is, probably have leant over the boy in concern when he was coughing. His breath slightly brushes Will’s ear and he barely suppresses a shiver. “And please, I think it is time enough that you call me Hannibal. You are not officially my patient, may I remind you. We are merely two people sharing a series of conversations.”

“Um, okay... Hannibal.” The smile that is rewarded to him for his use of the casual term is enough for Will to fight through the awkwardness.

“Now.” Hannibal’s voice changes to a more serious tone and he removes his hand from Will’s back. “What brings you here after hours, my good Will?”

Will grimaces and suddenly feels his frustration and slight panic at the situation flooding past the barriers he had been trying to keep them at bay with.

“I lost time,” he says. “One minute, it was yesterday, and I was in here with you, and the next minute, I was in Crawford’s office, and he was telling me you said I was fine.” He pauses at that, and meets Hannibal’s eyes in a rare moment of eye contact. “Why did you tell him that? I’m anything but fine, especially since the _murders_. You know, the other day, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, the dummy I was stunning became the woman who was found in Hogsmeade? And she was angry at me for killing her. I didn’t kill her, I know I didn’t, but I still feel guilty about it. And, and, I see blood everywhere now. And I see things that aren’t there, and I can’t focus, and sometimes I can’t tell what’s a dream and what’s real-”

“ _Will_. You are rambling. Please, one thing at a time.”

The young man snaps his mouth shut and wrings his hands, which had been flying in all directions during his rant. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry for barging in here unannounced.” Hannibal laughs.

“Not at all, I understand. But perhaps we should settle down? Come upstairs and I will cook you dinner, and you can tell me about your worries.”


End file.
